A Lesson on Control
by Obfuscatress
Summary: Overalls and weaponized umbrellas aren't Kingsman's only traditions. Part One of the Lessons series.


_**A/N:** Warnings for Graphic Depictions of Violence. Contains beating with blunt instruments. The series will be published in three one shots instead of as a single fic because the pieces are ideologically connected, but the events, methods, and character sets involved are separate from one another._

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Naturally, Roxy knows Kingsman is anything but ordinary, and yet finding herself blindfolded in what she deems an empty room in only her underwear seems even out of character for the Secret Service. Not to mention that the handy handbook that comes with Knighthood simply refers to this part of Kingsman's orientation as The Lesson, whatever that means.

Roxy doesn't think about it too closely, focused on her surroundings instead as a door clicks open some feet away. She doesn't turn towards the sound, but considers a possible strategy of attack, and listens to footsteps that sound familiarly controlled.

"Lancelot," Merlin says and the line of tension in Roxy's shoulders abates ever so slightly. She can almost hear the lack of an amused smile, when he says, "Why you young people bother getting your knickers in a twist about everything escapes me."

"I didn't know this situation was something to be blase about," she quips.

"Do you know why you are here?" Merlin asks and it's almost like their talking over the comms, since she can't see him. If only it weren't for the way his voice resonates off the walls in the bare space.

"A lesson on Kingsmanship, I presume."

"It's a lesson of sorts," Merlin says and he sounds strangely held back, "Every new Kingsman agent receives one from a senior agent, and I have been appointed to execute yours. I want you to know what happens in this room remains strictly within it, shall never be spoken of, nor should it have any effect on our professional working relationship. Understood?"

She nods and wonders what on earth is about to happen, considering being practically naked and blindfolded isn't exactly a normal way to meet a colleague, even at an organization where every other person could easily commit murder.

"We'll start on the floor," Merlin says and Roxy hears him move towards the right, "Kneel."

She is about to object and then doesn't, sinking to her knees slowly, folding away one leg after another. Merlin picks something up and puts it back down again. Roxy folds her feet outwards to form a basin for her hips and sits with her back poker straight. Merlin picks up yet another object and hums his approval.

"This is nothing personal, but a lesson on control," Merlin says as he comes to stand behind her and sets something that feels like brand new leather against the skin between her shoulderblades. "You are not allowed to move unless I tell you so. You are not allowed to scream or curse. If you must make a sound, speak in words. We shall begin."

Roxy takes a deep breath and steels herself for whatever is about to occur. She tries not to shiver even as the hair at the back of her neck stands up in anticipation, unwarranted or not. Merlin moves the _thing_ – and she reckons it might just be a riding crop – along the underside of her shoulder blade to her left flank. "Hands on your knees," he says, curt and quiet.

She curls her palms around her kneecaps and, as Merlin lifts the riding crop from her skin, it is obvious he's going to strike her with it. When the blow comes, it's like his words: an incredibly painful sting and Roxy momentarily forgets how to breathe. She gulps in a breath like it's water and her skin burns. The leather piece hovers in the air again with a promise of a repeat. It's just as quick as the first hit, slightly lower this time, and this time Roxy sucks in air through her teeth instead of holding her breath.

Merlin bends down and runs two cold and calloused fingers over the marks he's left on her. "You're skin is very irritable."

She wants to tell him that is what happens when one is beaten, but keeps her mouth shut and takes comfort in the break. When he sets the crop back on her skin and drags it to her other side across her back, it occurs to Roxy that this was just a test run.

Merlin strikes twice in rapid succession and the impact stings perfectly symmetrically along her lower ribs. "Congratulations on Istanbul by the way. Quite well handled and certainly a delight on my end. Especially since I had Bedivere to guide at the same time," he says conversationally and Roxy thinks of course he'd bloody want to chit chat while doing this.

"Flying an airplane isn't that big of a deal," she says as he decides where he wants to inflict his next hit, "My dad did tell me thing or two about aircrafts. He was rather hoping I'd follow in his footsteps and become a pilot."

"If only he knew." Merlin pokes her in the back in a way that commands her to bend forward and expose her back to him. Roxy curls down over her thighs and rests her forehead on the ground, wishing there was a clock ticking on a wall somewhere, so she could even guess at how long she's been here.

The leather strip at the tip of the crop runs over her spine in a slow and yet fluid movement, goes up and down on every vertebrae, and she wonders whether Merlin is counting them. He gets to the bottom of her back and the movement stills for an agonizing fourteen seconds – not that she's counting – before Merlin makes up his mind. The crop comes back down in the centre of her back with a loud _thwack_ and Roxy bites into her lip to suppress a yelp.

"You're doing well," Merlin comments without meaning it. He moves on to where he started, between her shoulder blades and strikes a cross that splits open at the centre.

Roxy's breath hitches as her skin tears and she has to ask, "Is it bleeding?"

"Yes. Good thing you are wearing black. Wouldn't want to leave stains," Merlin says, and Roxy wants to snap 'that's not the fucking point here, is it' but doesn't. It is a lesson on control, after all, and as it is she really doesn't want a repeat performance. Merlin's swish lands at the base of her neck, right where the two lines of knotted muscle in her shoulders join and Roxy is overcome by the sensation of simultaneously tensing and relaxing, like some sort of twisted release. Later, she attributes it to the adrenaline finally kicking in.

Merlin continues his beating in a pattern that's mirrored onto both halves of her body, jolts of pain scattered along her shoulders. She's sure he lurks over her by the way his breath speeds up and brushes her neck as it does so. It only makes her skin feel even tighter and overheated. "Get up," he says, and Roxy takes a long breath of relief at the interruption.

She gets to her legs, surprised that they don't wobble under her weight, though her knees protest the sudden movement with a loud crack. Merlin asks her to put her arms out to the sides and she complies without a thought as to what he might do. He hits her once on each palm and then gently pushes her hands up towards the ceiling and each other with his own icy palms.

"Is this tradition too?" Roxy asks when he moves off to the side of the room where he picked the crop up in the first place.

"Of sorts, yes," he admits, and Roxy hears the clang of hard wood being knocked against the ground. "And you know how fond this institution is of archaic traditions, even for all its ability to adapt to the modern age. It's like a bad habit, this little part of becoming a Kingsman."

He comes back and then decides against it, muttering, "No, no, it isn't right." Roxy touches her palms together above her head to rest her tiring arms against one another while Merlin picks a new tool to flog her with.

"Do you get to choose your own instruments, or is it a set variety?"

There is a pause in which Roxy imagines him to look at her with curiosity, "Free choice, so long as it isn't a fatal weapon and doesn't leave permanent marks beyond minor scarring. Essentially no guns or swords, is the general take away. Or electronics. It's a pity."

Merlin returns to her and guides Roxy to the wall with a palm flat against her back over the struck spot in the middle. She moves in slightly hesitant steps, until she ends up with her nose an inch from the wall, breath bouncing back at her from the surface as warm air. She lays her palms against the wall and waits.

"You know," Merlin says as he positions himself behind her, "You're lucky to have put it off for so long. Normally we're not let out into the field before this ritual is completed."

"Must have had something to do with-" his weapon of choice, a long and rough whip, comes flying down and snaps against her skin, breaking her voice, "-with the world being about to go to hell due to Valentine."

"Admittedly, eco-terrorism is at least a somewhat unconventional field for villains," Merlin says and he sounds _bored_. He hits Roxy again, three times in quick succession and the force slashes open her thigh. "Sorry, that was unintentional," he says, implying the wound on her back was indeed deliberate, and Roxy wants to turn around and punch him in the face.

Instead, damping down her rage, as if it's no big deal and they are having a chat before she's shipped off to some hellhole, Roxy says, "Too bad he faced the same fate as every other dirtbag."

"Not _all_ of them," Merlin punctuates the statement with a whipping and says, "Some of them do make it to prison and get to eat suspicious looking mush for the rest of their lives."

"Well, Eggsy did enjoy getting his revenge, and I don't think prison would have done Harry Hart any justice."

"Justice is such an ambiguous word. I hate it," Merlin says and the whip hits Roxy's hands in turn to emphasize his point. "All virtues lie in the eye of the beholder and I am not particularly fond of continuums."

"May the discrete variables be with you," she mutters like she's sixteen and stuck graphing histograms in math class. Merlin rolls his eyes – this she is certain of – and whips her right between the shoulderblades. Her scapulae twitch together in an ill-fated attempt to protect her body and Roxy reminds herself to stay quiet and breathe.

Merlin turns her around and pulls her arms back down to her sides, running his hands over her shoulders in the process as a reminder not to tense up too much. "Last bit," he says.

He sets his hands to her throat, thumbs placed on her trachea two inches apart from one another, and squeezes just enough to make breathing _difficult_. Roxy forces herself to rasp, "You should get out more, if this is how you strangle people."

"No, thank you," Merlin says and tightens his grip enough for her to feel truly panicked. Roxy keeps her arms down even though the pressure on her neck is driving her crazy and she wants nothing more than to claw Merlin's hands off of her. She slowly start counting up numbers with the intention of simply kicking him and his deadly grip far away when she reaches ten.

He lets go by eight and she involuntarily gasps, which only causes her to break off in a raw cough. "Urgh, this tradition is even worse than the overalls," Roxy says between wheezed breaths as Merlin unties her blindfold.

The room is painfully brightly light and Merlin's face is blotchy red and white at the same time. The pattern carries all over his bald head and along his ears. "At least you had a kind mentor," Merlin says. "I had Harry Hart."

Roxy doesn't ask. Merlin doesn't elaborate. He takes a long look at her and the damage he's done, saying, "There is gauze and antiseptic in the dressing room."

Roxy nods and he goes back to running the Kingsman tech department like this whole episode never took place. Roxy wipes a line of blood from the gash on her thigh, staining her hands maroon. She supposes this constitutes the good old act of swearing a blood oath.


End file.
